


sweet impossible blossom

by tessaquayle



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 16:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessaquayle/pseuds/tessaquayle
Summary: A not-bad dream.





	sweet impossible blossom

Can we stop at the next town, Vivian asked, rolling down the window, her face against the lapping breeze.  He steered the silver Aston Martin and could hear the wheels crunch on the gravel road.  Brown paper bags, full of fruit, rustled beneath her knees.  She bit into a green apple and sucked its juice seeping between its flesh and skin.  Please try not to speed, she begged.  He looked over at her, saw the seatbelt stretched away from the swell of her belly.  She’d had to squeeze into the passenger seat.  I can feel her kicking, I think, but sometimes I can’t tell.

Gareth bolted upward, gasping in the dark.  The moonlight cast a webbed shadow in the corner, over the clothes they’d shed, careless, impatient.  His heart knocked against his chest.  

Her eyes still closed, Vivian stirred, murmured _hey_ as she moved sleepily beside him.   

She heard him breathing and opened her eyes and sat up.  She slowly raised her hand to the crease of his back, between his shoulder blades.  His muscles tensed to her touch and she let her hand fall.   

“Are you okay?  Was it a nightmare?” 

“No - not a nightmare,” he said quickly.  “Just an odd dream.  Odd, not bad.”

She turned to him and searched his face for a sign of relief.  She bit her lip and her voice softened: “When I was a little girl, my grandmother said if I had a bad dream, telling someone else about it would keep it from coming true. ”

“It wasn’t a bad dream,” he insisted.  

“Alright,” Vivian whispered, sounding unsure whether to take his word: “Sorry, we don’t have to talk about it.”

She kissed his cheek, damp with sweat, and sank back on her pillow, face up, palms pressed into the bed.  He laid back, pulling the sheets around him, and turned to her.  He nestled against her neck, inhaling the faded, rich scent of the Samsara she’d worn to the office that morning.  His hand slid across her belly and he found himself catching his breath.  Almost mindlessly, he cupped his hand between her legs, the legs that opened for him.  He stopped, almost wanting to fall back to sleep and reenter the dream. _Keep going_ , she breathed, _I like it that way_.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the poem "From Blossoms" by Li-Young Lee.


End file.
